


plutonic

by vermeillons



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Black Markets, Cooking, Cyberpunk, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Purple Prose, Unhinged Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25664560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vermeillons/pseuds/vermeillons
Summary: Laurent rescues Damen and makes him eggs.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	plutonic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crazywineaunt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazywineaunt/gifts).



It was after championing a street racing tournament—earning himself the _Neon Demon_ alias in the process—that Laurent first saw one. And it was months ago, when he and Aimeric had decided to infiltrate the illustrious Peacock Society, that he learned the price.

He’d thought he’d been in over his head then, but Laurent’s reasoning had shattered somewhere between his dislocated shoulder and the very much injured man he had asleep in the guest bedroom.

The clock shone a bright _2:34 AM_.

After he'd dragged the man over to the bed, he'd all but collapsed into sleep without a single word. Laurent had tended his wounds, but he wasn’t sure of the last time the man had eaten.

There weren’t many things Laurent could cook with one hand, so fried eggs sounded the safest. If he managed some inventive maneuvering, there might even be the possibility of toast. _Mise en Place_ : two eggs; two unbuttered slices of sourdough; a pan with oil. It was odd to imagine them all at a point outside of his apartment. It was odd to see himself put them back together. From dust to dust, as they say.

Laurent had rescued the man because someone wanted to take him apart.

Crack him open like a duck egg, a viscous drop of sun devoured in an instant when it was something to be savored.

Laurent preferred to take his time, feel the chill against his skin till it melted between his lips, roll it around on his tongue and keep it safe inside of him—in his mouth—in every word a hint of that yellow sun, his words would shine.

The yokes wobbled with every step. Carefully as he could manage, Laurent shrugged open the door to the guest bedroom, his other hand steadying a glass and painkillers.

He toed the corner lamp on and silently congratulated himself for buying it. The light just barely lapped at the edges of the comforter. An outline lay on top of the blankets, a steady rise and fall accompanying heavy breaths threatening to break into snores.

Six months ago, it had been a storming night when the newly crowned _Neon Demon of Arles_ descended into a hellish morgue alongside less than savory company.

They’d had one of similar size and build. “ _On ice,_ ” they’d said.

Another said, “ _How much?_ ”

“ _Here._ ”

> **Skeleton -** 8,100,000,000.00
> 
> **Skull -** 50,000,000.00
> 
> **Heart -** 120,000.00
> 
> **Liver -** 175,000.00
> 
> **Pancreas -** 45,000.00
> 
> **Kidneys -** 150,000.00 (per kidney)
> 
> **Blood -** 10,000.00 (per liter)
> 
> **Skin -** 200.00 (per cm³)

“ _These are insane._ ”

“ _You in or what?_ ”

“ _How much for a finger?_ ”

Laurent could tell he’d been handsome when he was alive. It took everything he’d had not to vomit.

Walking over to the bed, Laurent placed his offerings on the nightstand, whisked the curtains open, and flooded the corner with moonlight. Turning, he held back a gasp.

The man was beautiful. Strong and chiseled, with careful hands that stayed warm when his face had not. He’d bruised like an amethyst, but Laurent swayed himself from that sort of thinking. This man was hunted.

Those with liquid gold pumping through their veins and cried tears of pearls. Those who struck the earth and brought forth neither water, nor honey, nor milk, but a harvest of riches. A common despot could lavish an emperor’s life on their nacreous sorrow.

Rousing, rapid flutters of long lashes, the man let out a rattling breath.

“I never got to ask how you like your eggs,” said Laurent. “How do you feel?”

The gruff of his voice, “Who are you?”

An echo of the words coughed into the rain-streaked window of Laurent’s car, the bumper now riddled with bullet holes.

Laurent eyed the man’s chest, the jeweled cage of it, and the frantic footfalls of his heart, running ever onwards in a world that wished him dead. A shard of moonlight caught in the man’s dark eyes and a dazzling, fragment of a fantasy filled Laurent’s vision. Before he could catch himself, Laurent said, “Is it true that your bones are made of diamond?”

The man stiffened. Neither he nor Laurent dared to disturb the few paces of air between them. After an agonizing drown of a moment, “It’s true.”

 _You’re safe here_ , Laurent wanted to say. “You don’t deserve this.” _You’re safe with me._

"I should be thanking you.” The man unwound into the bed, arms coming to rest behind his head. He looked only at Laurent as he spoke, “You saved me back there.”

Laurent couldn’t stop the rush of heat that bloomed in his cheeks. “I didn’t save you. I got my shoulder dislocated and shoved you in my car.”

“You shoved me in your car and now I still have all my bones.”

“Right.”

“What’s your name?”

He could lie. Give him something, anything that wasn’t his, even after quite literally dragging this man into his life. This man who made Laurent gasp and blush and enamored him with a flick of his eyelashes. Lush, dark umber lashes that framed his sun-gilded features all too perfectly.

“Laurent.” His own voice was foreign to him. “You don’t have to tell me yours if you don’t—”

“My name is Damen.” Damen smiled. He had a dimple in his left cheek. “It’s nice to meet you properly, Laurent.”

A glimmer of an Akielon accent as Damen repeated Laurent’s name. Laurent turned his face to the plate of food he’d brought. "Your eggs are getting cold.”

“How should I pay you back?” said Damen. “Emeralds? Rubies? Sapphires?” Quieter, “Sapphires would suit you.”

It was Laurent’s turn to freeze.

Damen’s lips were moving, apologetic in the set of his jaw, but Laurent’s heartbeat droned in his head—a siren, a warning. This was not an underground auction ring nor an icy morgue. This was not something he could flee from.

Laurent asked, “If you kissed me, would I turn to gold?”

“ _Laurent_ ,” he said, and his words were fevered with promise. The warmth of Damen’s fingers found Laurent’s own, unconsciously twisted in the sheets. “Can I kiss you?”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://vermeillons.tumblr.com)


End file.
